• The Start.

    The over head fan rotated slowly. The once soft sound that use to be a comfort sounded loud and as annoying as bells, making the silent air tense around the room. Mr. Mason shifted in his seat, snapping my attention from the ceiling back to him.

    “Mr. Sin, please, you must help me,” his voice was pleading, whiny. You could tell he wasn’t use to the word no.

    “No. I’m sorry that I can’t help-“

    “You mean ‘wont’,” he crossed his arms, pouting in his seat like a five year old. Mr. Mason was over forty.

    “Fine,” my voice was clipped. I was tired, annoyed, and about ready to kick Mason out. “I’m sorry that I won’t help you.”

    The chair slowly gave an evil creak as Mr. Mason lifted his six foot four frame from the poor wood and padding. He loomed over me and my desk.

    Mr. Mason, or Robert Mason, is a forty-six year old man. A blue suit was tailored to his body like he was born in it. A fake tan soaked his skin, causing the once handsome man to look orange. All he needed was green hair and he could try out for an Oompa Loompa. A rather large Oompa Loompa, but one, none the less. Speaking of his hair, it was a brown, dark and shiny, that sat on top of his head like a mop. It was a beautiful color that you get from the bottle, not natural. Gray was peaking out from his eyebrows, that looked to be trimmed, and around his mouth where his moustache was. The hair on top of his head was a messy look with pieces sticking up here and there. A more modern hair style for the kiddies, not middle aged men. Would he get mad if I told him to start acting and dressing like his age? Probably.

    In all, if you take way the tan and fix the hair, he would be a very attractive man. His eyes were a striking goldish-brown that reminded me of honey. His body was toned and kept in shape. Though I personally believe he could lose some of the muscles. He was half way between a body builder and a football player. He should move back toward the football player look. He had the voice for it. It was deep, sweet, and smooth. I bet he’d be great at phone sex.

    I sat behind my desk, staring up at the taller man, the bigger man and smiled. What else could I do?

    “You will regret this, Yuuichi.” He said my name as if it was a curse. My smile only widened.

    “I don’t react to threats well, Robert, now...” I blinked slowly and talked low, my voice coming out in a soft growl, “Get out.”

    His eyes widened as if he had never been asked to leave anywhere before. Being part of the biggest and strongest mob in Bellingham, I’d believe it.

    A sigh rolled out of my mouth. I couldn’t help it. The professional smile was slowly moving back to my face, though it wasn’t as strong or as professional as before. Just enough to keep me out of trouble. I slowly stood up. His angry eyes blazed orange, staying on me as I rose. “Now, Mr. Mason, I must ask you to leave. I have told you, repeatedly, that I can’t help you. Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” as I spoke, I made my way to the door, being careful to stay out of touching distance. “I have put up with your threats, with your attitude and your rudeness. So,” I smiled, “For the last time, please leave.” I was by the door now, hand on the cold knob. I never took my eyes of the other man in my office.

    His face was red, anger burned in his eyes like coals in a fire, “I’ll leave now, Yuuichi Sin, but trust me when I say I’ll be back.” In my mind I pictured that cheesy line said by the tough guy Arnold Schwarzenegger. A laugh filled my brain. Robert gave a laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. I bet we were thinking about different things. He walked to the now open door, stopping just in front of me. “Mark my words.”

    “Consider them marked.” I blinked at him, staring up. I was only five foot seven. Not too short but then again, compared to this much larger man, I was short. Not only in height. I was sure he out weighed me by a hundred plus pounds. None of it fat. “Goodbye, Robert.” I let my eyes fill with what my thoughts were. They did not match my causal words. He fixed his already straight suit jacket, turned on his heel, and left with his ego sore from my brief battering.

    I made sure to watch him leave all the way before shutting my door. My fingers slid to the lock. I thought about locking it. “I’m not that worried,” I whispered to myself, pulling my hand away. I tiredly moved back to my paper draped desk. I was exhausted, and it wasn’t even noon yet.